


Splintered

by themegalosaurus



Series: Oh Sam tripleplay fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, Episode Tag, Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, Gen, Hurt Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5230910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>'There’s a flicker in his vision and Sam spins round but it’s too slow, thrown off balance by his hobbled limb, and he’s only just able to get his forearm in front of his face before the hammer comes down.'</i>
</p><p>Something short and not so sweet, written for the <a href="http://ohsam.livejournal.com/845164.html">Oh Sam tripleplay</a> to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Caranfindel">caranfindel</a>'s prompt: LOCATION: The Bunker // SECONDARY CHARACTER: Demon!Dean // AFFLICTION: Hammer (!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splintered

There’s a flicker in his vision and Sam spins round but it’s too slow, thrown off balance by his hobbled limb, and he’s only just able to get his forearm in front of his face before the hammer comes down. There’s a crunch, wet and sharp, and a shock of pain jolts electric up across his back and into the base of his skull. He gasps, stumbles and clutches at the wall as Dean lifts the hammer again. This time he brings it down square on Sam’s good shoulder, cracking the scapula, wedging into the flesh.   
  
Sam howls. He’s on his knees, now, scrabbling limp fingers at the floor. He dropped Ruby’s knife when the first stroke hit and so all he can do is curl up small and wait for his brother to kill him.  
  
Up above his head, Dean laughs. He pulls out the hammer – horrible slurp of Sam’s muscles and blood – and, down at Sam’s eye level, his feet brace wide. Sam bows his head, anticipating the impact, exposing the soft tissue at the back of his neck.  
  
The blow he’s awaiting doesn’t come. There’s a shout, instead, Dean’s voice hoarse and ugly and suddenly somehow Cas’s legs are there too, tight against Dean’s and he’s barking angry but Sam’s vision is swimming, the pain deafening, enormous, white.  
  
“IthinkI’mgonna,” he says, and passes out.  
  
He comes round again too quickly, propped now against the same wall with his own blood seeping damp into the seat of his jeans. Castiel is crouched in front of him, serious. “You need to instruct me, Sam,” he says, “in completing the cure.”  
  
Sam’s pretty sure that if he opens his mouth he’s gonna throw up.  
  
“Is it written down?” Cas continues. “We can’t let Dean get loose again in his current condition.”  
  
He’s right, of course, so Sam swallows down hot bile, breathes carefully in through his nose and tells Cas what he needs to do. “The blood’s in there,” he says, and tries to gesture with his head; but the movement’s too much and he folds over, sliding useless down the tiles, choking vomit on the floor. Cas moves his hands to support him but everywhere he touches is agony. Sam bubbles in a gasp, coughs chunks.  
  
“Just finish it,” he says. Cas’s eyes are blue and anxious, but he does as he’s told, settles Sam back against the wall and stands. Angel training. Gotta be good for something, right?  
  
The corridor blurs and blackens before Cas comes back. “I gave him the injection,” he says, “so now we have an hour to wait until the last.” He looms in Sam’s vision again, too close. “Can you stand?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sam says. His arms are useless, dead weight. He’s not sure how he’d get to his feet.   
  
Cas touches a dry finger to his forehead. “I am not certain I have sufficient power to heal you,” he says. “I don’t want to weaken myself absolutely in case Dean gets free.” He pauses. “I could render you unconscious.”  
  
“Please,” says Sam, not too proud for this.  
  
The next time he wakes up he’s in bed, his arms lying soft over the top of the blankets and his shoulder and forearm throbbing heavy and dull. Somebody has put pillows behind his head but the position is uncomfortable now, his back sore. He tries shifting but it just hurts more.  
  
“Cas?” he calls. There are footsteps, eventually, and then the door shifts forward.  
  
It’s Dean. Unprepared, Sam can’t control his flinch. Dean’s eyebrows lower and he steps back. “I’ll call Cas,” he says, retreating, closing the door.  
  
“No,” Sam says, hurried. “Wait.”  
  
The shadows of Dean’s feet below the doorframe settle and still. Sam watches his brother thinking, weighing up guilt. Dean comes back into the room. He moves a little closer, hanging back by the dresser.   
  
“Christ, Sammy,” he says.  
  
“You feeling better?” Sam asks him, and Dean barks a laugh.   
  
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I don’t think even Cas would have let me out unless he thought I was cured.”  
  
Sam nods. He closes his eyes.  
  
Dean clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he says.   
  
“It’s okay,” Sam tells him. He doesn’t open his eyes, though. He just needs a little space.   
  
Dean shifts against the dresser a little while, waiting. Sam doesn’t move, breathes deep, tries to blank away the pain. He counts in his head.  
  
Five hundred and thirty five seconds later, Dean’s boots step forward. A hand settles warm over Sam’s foot, squeezes a little. The door opens and closes. Sam breathes deep.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written mostly to gratify caranfindel's ghoulish wishes. But I could have been meaner, I think... (Your comments very welcome!)


End file.
